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Crowley felt the music pulsing through his body like a second heartbeat. There had been a time when that would have driven him to the dance floor, would have made him hot and hard. Now it just gave him a headache. Why was he even here? Mostly because he’d been to a club like this every weekend for decades. It brought him very little pleasure, but he didn’t know what else to do.
After watching bodies grinding and groping for a few minutes, Crowley turned back to the bar and raised his glass. As the bartender brought him another whisky, Crowley felt a warm body sidle up to him.
“Buy me a drink?” the lithe young thing purred, pressing his hard cock into Crowley’s hip. “I’ll make it worth your while, Daddy.”
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “I’m nobody’s Daddy. Certainly not yours.” He stepped away, making his interest—or lack of—clear.
“Asshole,” the kid said, turning to the man on his other side.
Fuck. He wasn’t old enough to be some kid’s Daddy. Sometimes he thought he’d like a… Well, neither here nor there.
Crowley threw back his drink, slammed the glass down, and started for the door.
As he neared it, someone ran into him, hard.
“Fuck’s sake,” he growled. He grabbed the man’s arm to keep from falling. “What're you—” But then he looked at him.
He couldn’t finish the thought. If he had, he would have said, “What are you doing in a place like this, with your curly little… and your neat white…” Because the man was gorgeous. A bit older than Crowley, with white-blond curls and deep blue eyes, he looked like a fucking angel.
Crowley wanted to eat him alive.
“So sorry,” the angel said. “My friends have wandered off, and I… well, I don’t quite know what to do in a place like this,” he said. “Not really my, erm, scene.”
“You don’t say.”
The angel looked abashed, and Crowley immediately regretted his snarky comment. He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Crowley.”
As they touched, Crowley’s knees went weak. From a fucking handshake. He was so screwed.
“Oh, where are my manners? Aziraphale. Pleased to meet you.”
Name of an angel, too.
“Suits you.”
Aziraphale smiled, and that did it. Crowley was taking him home and keeping him. He didn’t even need to fuck him, just tuck him into bed and make sure he was safe and warm.
“Let’s find your friends, eh? Or, erm, get you a drink?”
Aziraphale stepped closer. Only to be heard, Crowley thought. “Yes, I think I’d like a drink,” he said with a shy smile. “But weren’t you on your way out?” He blinked innocently through long lashes. The bastard.
“I was on my way out, but only because I didn’t have any reason to stay.”
“And now?”
Crowley decided to take a chance. He wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s waist—nice and plush, softness over muscle—and pulled him close. “And now it seems I do,” he growled, taking a deep inhale. Aziraphale smelled as good as he looked.
“As do I.”
They got their drinks and stood at the bar, turning to watch the dancers on the floor. Aziraphale seemed completely out of place, and as soon as he finished his whisky, Crowley leaned down, face in those curls once again.
“Want to get out of here?”
“Mmhmm,” Aziraphale said, wiggling a bit as he pressed into Crowley. The feeling of his hardness against Crowley’s hip was quite welcome. Imagine that. “Suggestions?”
“I have a few,” Crowley mumbled.
Aziraphale laughed, pushing Crowley towards the door. “As do I, darling.”
When they got outside, Aziraphale turned and removed Crowley’s sunglasses. “Oh, there you are,” he whispered. He took Crowley’s lapels in his hands and walked him back against the bricks, licking into his mouth fervently.
“Oh, fuck, Aziraphale,” Crowley said as they ground together.
“Darling?
“Hmmm?”
“What would you say if I asked you to call me ‘Daddy’?”